


The Hour - "Lay your hands on me" - Randall/Hector

by Samstown4077



Series: Randall Brown - Head of News [10]
Category: The Hour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, And Hector is the prey, Hand Jobs, I was brave writing this so be brave and read it, M/M, Only decency stops me writing Randall how he shags everyone in the office, Porn, Randall and Hector have met before in the war, Randall is a fox, Randall tells Hector what to do, Two-times lovers, affair, blowjob, porn with a bit of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21747457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samstown4077/pseuds/Samstown4077
Summary: Randall is the reason Hector's contract gets renewed. Not knowing what to say, Randall suggests "a thank you would be a start". Hector comes to Randall's office, to do exactly this, just not as anyone of us saw it on screen. An intimate reflection of the two men's past and what could have let to this one famous promo picture of Hector tieing Randall's tie, a scene never aired. Smut. M/M. Canon implemented S2E4. --
Relationships: Randall Brown/Hector Madden
Series: Randall Brown - Head of News [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/810540
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	The Hour - "Lay your hands on me" - Randall/Hector

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pompeiian_bollocker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pompeiian_bollocker/gifts).



> Part ONE of "Fixed what is broken" series about Randall shagging basically his whole staff. What sounds very naughty, and it is but it is also full of angst and emotions.  
> -  
> What can one sentence do to a writer? "I ship Randall like with everyone..." and this was all my mind needed, and I wrote a 4-part series of Randall giving in to his wants and needs shagging his main-staff. Don't be mistaken, this is smut, but also emotions, drama and heartbreak..  
> As always this idea started as inception by my partner in crime Tehnirzt, telling me they ship Randall basically with everyone "including Hector". Two weeks later I sat over the picture I add into this fic, have always wondered what it was about. Plus rewatching by pure coincidence this little scene where Hector gets his contract renewed and Randall tells him to be thankful. Those little bits let my brain go all "this is a porn plot you have to write!". 
> 
> My ship is another but then again I took the challenge and wrote a Randall/Hector smut fic. It's all about one blowjob and them doing some powerplay with words, so I guess it won't hurt your perspective on them both.
> 
> I write a lot Randall Brown, and this version of him is maybe a little different from how I usually write him. But sometimes I am cheeky enough to make him cheeky too. The tag is "Randall is a fox" and damn, he simply is. Be warned, be brave, be happy. This is a gifted fic to my PiC!

_“Mister Madden is not simply the frontman of The Hour; he’s the essence. A former serviceman, his is the reliable voice that, in these dark and difficult times, the public can respect.”_

_..._

_“I don’t know what to say.”_

_“‘Thank you’ would be a start.”_

  
  


The brief knock followed a respectable wait, before the door to the office of the Head of News, without Randall having said anything to it, went open. It was the habit of a newsroom, not to wait for an invitation, as any delay, even for a second could have dangerous ends. So he used to pardon the act of discourtesy in silence.

When the open going door revealed Hector, a slight shift went through Randall, who tried to go over some papers Bel had given him earlier.

Closing the door quickly, Hector let his back rest against it, his eyes regarding Randall who had one hand on the desk, the other supporting his head a little.

“Mister Madden— “

Hector was well aware of the tone that implicated it wasn’t a convenient moment, but the anchorman had come to make a point, “— I admit, you almost had convinced me, Mister Brown.”

Randall rose his head, peering at Hector, a tension building up in his left shoulder.

“At first, I thought you didn’t remember me,” he chuckled lightly. “A harsh blow to my vanity.” His hand behind his back, at the door handle, he locked the door, striding then forward. “But possible, of course. It’s been a while.”

“Mister Madden, I don’t think there is anything to discuss.” Randall had placed the pen aside but had kept the position, slightly bowed toward the paper. All his attention though, now directed to the younger.

Deliberate Hector overheard his protest, “Only then, when you rooted for me at the BBC… when you told me; ‘a thank you would be a start’, a request. There I knew.”

Randall inhaled only to huff the air out in exaggeration. His opposite was right; he had lacked the fitting facade for Hector that very moment. For a second, when telling him what to do, he had forgotten himself. 

Hector waited, holding Randall’s gaze, unsure what to expect, but willing to pressure him into an admittance. At least that — yet, he was here for a little more. 

Straightening his back, a hand came up, Randall reached for the thick frame of his glasses, correcting the fit only to let his hand brush through his hair by his temple slowly, his eyes darting between Hector and one of the elephants on his desk. There were decisions to be made. Raising, both hands on the counter, not willing to give away a steady stand, he cleared his throat, “To make it clear; I haven’t come here because of you.”

Randall Brown always knew how to handle Hector, how to influence him toward where he wanted him to be. Not that Hector ever knew where Randall wanted him to be till it was too late. “I didn’t think so. A little too much credit for a brief affair, wouldn’t it?”

The word ‘affair’ made Randall dispatch from the desk, shoving his hands into his pockets, “Hector…”

The sound of his name let Hector make two more strides toward the desk, “I know what you want to say, but… I still remember that one night. The way— “

“— stop it!” quickly Randall stepped around his desk, to the side of it, glaring now at Hector. “Whatever it was, it’s done.”

Hector did a motion with his head and his upper body, as he used to do, when being unhappy but not willing to let the matter drop, “Listen, I know, I am pretentious and way more, but I am not all that stupid when it comes to you.” He dared to step closer, knowing when Randall would tell him explicitly to leave, there was no other way as to do so. 

The hand that had roamed through his hair was now balancing Randall by resting on the surface with three fingers. When Hector had stepped up, he had stopped his breathing, one finger of the other hand coming up sending out a warning to Hector who read his sign well, stopping then. 

Hector had been a bloody daredevil back in the war, serving in the Royal Air Force. When he had watched The Hour the first time, it was the way Hector used to smile into the camera, that made Randall remember who this anchorman once had been. That stupid grin he used to throw on like others some new shoes to impress the crowd. He’d been some war hero back then in 1944, in his early 30s, the Group Captain of his squadron with excellent air victories. Randall, a well-known war correspondent, in his early 40s, following around the flying troops right before D-Day, taking pictures and writing for the newspapers in England. Their encounter inevitable, like a scheduled disaster. Sweet, but still a disaster.

Hector picking up the girls with his grin and charm, — nothing had changed till today — and aside they never had an argument or anything, Randall did anything but treat him nicely. He wrote about everyone, but Hector, took pictures of everyone but the shiny hero. Something Hector couldn’t let go by unnoticed and not unmentioned. Without knowing he began battling for Randall’s attention and only when he found himself right between his legs with his mouth, he knew it had been all a perfect plan of Randall. 

It only had been one night, a brief interaction before D-Day called for Hector in the distance, and for Randall in London. 

Hector sensed Randall’s uneasiness, owned maybe the fact 14 years laid between their last meeting, 14 years in which a lot of things had happened. Perhaps it was best to retreat. Hector wouldn’t be Hector when not taking a bit of a liability. Looking the older over he raised a hand, reaching out to the lapel of Randall’s jacket, brushing gently over the fabric. “I am sorry,” he sighed, also adding a smile. 

Hector had kissed a man here and there, nothing more, nothing serious. Randall had been the only one he had gone so far with. Beside or maybe because it had happened just once, he had spent a thought here and there about the encounter over the years. “It was worth a try. I won’t speak of it again.”

Just when Hector was letting his hand glide off Randall’s chest and turned, Randall reached out — grabbing his hand, stopping him. The surprise was visibly written all over Hector’s face who turned quickly looking first at their hands and then at Randall. 

Randall tilted his head, staring at him. Was his motion a reflex? Or something he had waited to do since showing up on the floors of the Hour? He couldn’t tell, and it didn’t matter because he was having Hector almost right where he wanted him to be. “I can’t remember dismissing you, Group Captain.” 

As if thrown back in time, Hector tilted back his shoulders, trying to get some stance into his body while his knees suddenly went all weak. His voice low, less impressive as usual, “Bloody bastard!” 

No, neither of them had forgotten how to play the game, how they used to play it with each other back and forth. Correspondent ignoring war hero. Hector seeking attention with brash comments, while Randall teased him endless by pointing out a minor error in his uniform, like one of his medals aligned in the wrong order or a wrinkle in his shirt. That his way to fly was too risky, too full of vanity, things like that — till Hector flipped. Till Hector couldn’t take the pretension anymore.

A thin smile appeared on Randall’s lips, “Till this day, way too self-opinionated. Is there nothing you have learned in the past 14 years?” 

Hector bit the inside of his mouth and cheeks, torn between two scenarios — none of them decent. “If you let me —” 

“ — If! I let you,” he softened his voice, “indeed.” 

Hector’s chest was heaving up and down quickly, excitement running through his veins, arousal circulating in his belly. Those greenish eyes with a bit of blue had caught his attention back then, always peering at him in a sort of dismay. That he had been Randall’s pray he only had realised when it had been over — Hector never minded. 

He shouldn’t do this, Randall thought briefly, shouldn’t allow Hector to be here, be all intoxicating. Well aware there was no D-day calling afterwards, their ways wouldn’t end in separate paths. Tomorrow they would face each other again, be professional, be with each other as usual, no matter how strong the taste of the other was still lingering on their lips. 

Reaching out, Randall cupped Hector’s face, his thumb brushing not too gently over the corner of his mouth, while the rest dug into his neck by his hairline holding him firmly in place. As if Hector would go anywhere. 

Indeed, his anchorman was handsome, and age had done nothing against it. For once Randall wasn’t interested in the mind, but in looks, though it helped, Hector had been a talented soldier back then and nowadays a good journalist. He hadn’t lied to the BBC. 

Leaning in, toward Hector’s ear, his lips brushing just the slightest against the hot skin, “you said you came to say thank you.” He couldn’t resist and let his mouth trail from his ear along his lifeline toward his collar. 

Hector groaned softly in response, “tell me!” He felt and heard Randall smile against his skin, sending a shiver down his spine. 

“Know your duty, Group Captain!” 

Randall was a damn fox, and the worst for Hector was that Randall knew his advantage and how Hector enjoyed it. He wanted nothing more than to touch Randall, work him off, but there was a little self-restraint left, a little bit of disobedience and Hector knew how to play it right, “Say it! Say it how you said it all those years ago,” Randall bit into his neck, making him battle for air, “tell me… how… how do you want me?” 

Randall leaned back to look him in the eyes. A smug expression on his face, mixed up with lust and desire, “I want my Group Captain, like the Brits, wanted their enemies — down on their knees!” 

That was all Hector needed to hear, and in an instant, he dropped down to his knees, his hands by Randall’s side sliding down to his hips. 

Without hesitation, Randall slipped out of his jacket, placing it over his desk behind him and tugged his tie into his button-up shirt. Better not ruin a good set of clothes. His hands were hanging now by his side, brushing over Hector’s who pressed his face against his middle. The contact made him suppress a groan. 

Through the fabric of the trousers, Hector felt Randall’s hardening member. He must have been aroused for quite a bit. The way Randall tried to stifle his noises only steered Hector on, letting his left hand feel out the shape that formed. 

Randall shook gently with anticipation, bending his upper body to make his middle press against Hector’s hand while he gripped the edge of the desk. Then he heard the zip of his fly and felt the warmth of Hector’s hand coming around his cock without delay. A firm first stroke, once up and once down, smearing the pre-cum from his tip over his length. A hiss escaped, half done in pain, halfway done in randiness. It’d been a while since someone had taken care of him like this. Not many men attracted Randall’s attention, and it needed years before Randall had found even the slightest interest in another male counterpart. Not that it had let to anything, except oppressed, hungry looks, and him taking care of himself alone in his bed at night, his mind painting pictures of delicious phantasies. Phantasies that probably turned out way better as anything reality could provide — he was no fool — so it was enough for him. 

Back in Paris, Freddie had been someone he’d liked to have. Way too often he had wondered how it would be to have the young boy on his back, taking him into his mouth, letting him whimper under his attention. Oh, in his head it was glorious, but in reality, the boy was way too busy with himself and with the girl he decided to marry — stupid boy!

Hector felt his arousal between his legs, something he had to take care of later. That was how the game was played between the two, and for him, it was satisfaction enough. 

“Do you remember?” he murmured, squeezing Randall’s balls with one hand and holding his cock steady with the other, licking from base to tip without waiting for an answer. 

Randall’s body quivered over the sudden sensation, one hand landing on Hector’s shoulder, pushing his fingertips into his strong shoulder muscle — an encouragement. 

And Hector needed no second invitation, doing precisely the same only to end his motion by taking Randall into his mouth — deep, greedy and with a long humming sound sending the vibrations of his throat right through Randall’s cock into his body. 

The effect of Hector’s action was Randall grasping for the back of Hector’s head, into his hair, uttering an obscenity under his breath. God, he had forgotten how good this felt in reality. How delicious Hector’s tongue had felt, swirling around his flesh, licking the tip, feeling out the little slit, sending waves of pleasure through him. Pushing Randall closer to the edge of release, letting deep sounding grunts emerge out of his mouth that came from deep within. 

Teeth scraping over the sensitive skin, strong hands working his skin, up and down, squeezing him just right. Clearly, Hector’s mouth was good for something else as reading news — and right at the moment, in Randall’s opinion, it was way better with his prick as with anything else. 

Feeling Randall’s hand in his hair, gently navigating him, not with force but with little tugs and little moans, Hector sucked him deep into his mouth, making the space as small as possible before rereleasing him. God, the feeling this sent through him, wanted him to make amends every day, again and again. It would lead to dangerous ends, there Hector was sure. At some point, it wouldn’t be enough to taste the salty, sticky flesh of his Head of News, at some point they would want to have more of each other. Too much. It would lead to complications and secrets; none of them could presume to have. Reputations, relationships and friendships would be on the brink of destruction. It only could be this one time; that was why Hector wanted to make this moment worthwhile. For both of them.

Without warning, he let go of Randall, his hands holding him by his hip, staring up at him. Randall’s cock in the proximity of his breath, standing firm, glistening with Hector’s saliva and pre-cum. 

Catching his breath, Randall found Hector looking at him, his hair appealingly dishevelled, a spark of mischief in his eyes. His mouth slightly red and swollen. Kissable almost. Something he denied himself and Hector, for reasons. Giving in would mean there would be no end and so he only cupped his face, brushing his thumb over his lips, begging for entrance into Hector’s mouth. His other hand took himself in hand, gently stroking, while Hector licked the presented finger not breaking eye contact. 

“You are a good boy, Group Captain,” Randall uttered hoarsely. “Now be better, and finish what you’ve begun!” To underline how he meant it, he brushed gently over Hector’s cheek. 

Hector had to do not much more, as to take Randall’s cock into his mouth, suckling, working the flesh with his palm, one hand now on his stomach, feeling his two-times lover would soon be toppling over the edge into his orgasm. 

Randall had held back when Hector had begun. Now he wanted to have it all, every little bit of pleasure that was possible like Hector wished to have every inch of Randall inside of his mouth. A give and take. His breathing deep and long, his hips going with the rhythm Hector’s mouth provided. Uttered words, in no apt order: endearments, sweet encouragements, gorgeous obscenities. 

“Hector… .”

A warning Hector ignored. Instead, he went down, squeezing Randall’s balls, feeling them jerk, feeling Randall’s hand dig almost painful into his shoulders. He came.

With an almost filthy groan, Randall was arching his body, moving his hips, giving it all into Hector’s mouth. 

An explosion of warmth, going through his body, forcing him to close his eyes. As if he was falling into a warm sea of ice and lava. In the distance he heard something fall off his desk, probably one of his books — he couldn’t care less. Randall would have toppled over, when Hector wouldn’t have held him by his hip and stomach, making sure he was safe. 

_Hector Madden saving Randall Brown — never tell me the odds._

Salt and bitterness swirled around in Hector’s mouth. Feeling the other shake under his affection throughout his orgasm, made him grunt hard. He took everything Randall spilt into his mouth, never getting tired of stroking him. Only when he felt him press against his shoulder, pleasure about to become painful he slowed down. With one last prolonged suckling, he released Randall’s cock — all licked clean. 

Randall gasped, his flesh sensitive and red. 

Exhausted Hector let himself fall back onto his bottom feeling his erection press hard against the inside of his trousers, while Randall quickly turned, holding close to the desk, afraid his knees would give away. Catching his breath, he packed himself away, closing his trousers only to hold onto the counter again. He knew Hector probably was in a state, and for a bit, it felt all ridiculous embarrassing. 

Brushing a few times over his erection, Hector decided it was best to go back on his feet. The urgent need for release would ease away fast; he knew himself best. 

When Randall heard Hector stand up again, hearing him brush through his hair with his hands, and clearing his throat, he reached for his jacket, slipping it back on. He was certain his hair was a mess, the curls having a field day surely. Without taking note of Hector, Randall went over to his locker. A look into the mirror confirmed his assumption. Quickly he reached for his hairbrush, demanding his hair back into order. When he closed the little cabinet section with the mirror, he found Hector looking at him. He seemed fine — his hair on the spot, the jacket and collar without wrinkles. Even his erection was hidden well in his trousers. Only his red cheeks betrayed his reasoned endeavour. 

A moment of uncertainty arose between them, in which neither Hector nor Randall knew how to handle the situation. In the end, it was Hector breaking the ice, by stepping forward and reaching for Randall’s tie, that was still tugged into his shirt. 

Randall was about to lean back, fearing wrong affection. “Your tie.” With it, he watched Hector slip his fingers under the fabric carefully drawing at it. His pulse was still going strong and deep inside he was glad Hector took care of his appearance. Even it meant for him to stand still as if Hector had ordered him. 

Mindful, he corrected the tie into its place, checking the knot and brushing over the fabric to make it look neat as always. “There you go.”

As always Randall couldn’t help himself and brushed over the tie also, giving his racing mind a reason to not race further. It felt all in check, and Randall nodded.

As it sometimes was, Randall’s compulsion spread to Hector. Giving him some room, he let his fingertips glide down his jacket a couple of times. When Randall had retaken a seat, he glanced at his wristwatch, “I better be…,” he made little circles with one finger, motioning to the door.

“Yes,” Randall nodded quickly.

Close to the door already, Hector stopped, “I know I made it clear, but still.., thank you.”

“Not necessary. Not if you’re going to stay.”

“Yes.” 

It was all said and done, and yet Randall reached out for him one last time, “Hec- … Mister Madden!” Hector turned still a little red in the face. “This… this can’t happen again. Not ever. I just wanted to make it clear.” It wasn’t as if those words came effortlessly over Randall’s lips. 

Hector had a feeling for Randall by now and knew how to take his stern warning. “Of course. I guessed so already. No worries.” Hector checked the fit of his tie and collar once again, “Mister Brown,” nodded and then strode out of the room. 

Waiting another five seconds, sure the door was closed, he gave, with Hector away and no one else about to disturb him, a profound sigh. The hand that had cupped Hector’s face was now nestling around his nose and mouth. The specific scent of Hector still lingering there, Randall let his eyes fall shut breathing it in. 

One could think Randall was regretting what had happened that he would mull it over again and again at the end of the day. But that wasn’t what was going on inside him. Instead, Randall took one last whiff, before reaching for the pen again, giving it all a chuckle. 

Then it knocked, and Bel Rowley stood in front of him, arms akimbo. 

He wondered for a moment, trying to read the news from her grim face, “Did the PM resign? No? Has Mister Lyon put the show in danger once more? Don’t tell me it’s something _I_ did?” 

His blonde producer, wearing a dark blue combination with a skirt which was - in his opinion - deliciously, half an inch too short, huffed, her lips forming a smoulder, “Mister Madden got his contract renewed.”

“Yes, but I thought we were at one about it. What is it?” For a moment, Randall doubted Hector, after all the man’s reputation wasn’t the best in the tabloids. “Did he say something?”

“No, nothing. I just thought, he looks way too happy about it, Randall. I had hoped you would make him beg for it because he hasn’t deserved an easy way after all he put us through.”

Bel had a point, he thought, giving her a look over when she got distracted by the book that was still laying on the floor she went to pick up. “So?” She held it out to him.

Brushing over her fingertips, he took it from her. “Don’t worry, he had it anything but easy.”

Bel wasn’t sure if she should take him by his words, “I can’t imagine you being so relentless.” 

The expression made him cock an eyebrow. Having almost trouble suppressing a smile, he placed the book back to its usual spot, “Can’t you?” One day, he thought, resting his head by his cheek on his elbow, when she - perhaps - had gotten over the busy boy Freddie Lyon, he would ask her out for dinner. 

She blushed a little, her remark owned to an act of bitterness, “No, you don’t seem the type.”

Randall chuckled, leaving her to find out about the truth another time, “would you be happy when I tell you I made him beg on his knees?”

Now it was Bel raising an eyebrow. “Did you?” she was still in a sour mood. “Oh, whatever. I don’t want you to lie to me.” 

“I’d never dare, Miss Rowley.”

Bel shook her head, “I just take, you gave him what he deserved.” With those words, she turned on her heels and left, leaving a slightly puzzled Randall behind. 

Taking off his glasses, he held his hand once more against his nose, laughing silently, before finally going back to his work.

Thing is, the Head of News is a fox, and even with Hector around, it is a well-kept secret. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This, ladies and gentlemen, is the first Randall/Hector fic ever here on AO3! And I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> I am unsure if Hector was Army or Royal Air Force, but the term Group Captain is only with the RAF, and I kinked out on the word so I took a needed liberty. 
> 
> Also, couldn't help myself to implement cheeky notions to my original ship at the end. 
> 
> Leave me your opinions, questions and remakes, I'd love to read them!


End file.
